PeaceTools: A Collection

By Sisters Rising Worldwide

14 fictional short stories inspired by authentic catholic sisters working in various vulnerable places in the world and how in the PeaceRoom they find WayMakers who fund them. each story presents a PeaceTool for the reader to discover.
Catholic sisters can contact the PeaceRoom through srw.org to submit their projects for vetting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667835136

Book preview

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This book is dedicated to Kelly Mallon Young.

A WayMaker gifted beyond the stars, Kelly’s kindness and dedication

to Sisters Rising Worldwide make the world better every single day.

©2022 SISTERS RISING WORLDWIDE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the holders except as provided by USA copyright law.

These fictional stories are inspired by true tales from the field. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included are the products of the storyteller’s imagination.

ISBN 978-1-66783-512-9 eBook 978-1-66783-513-6

Published in USA

sister judith esther, storyteller

*We especially thank our readers, Nancy Heck in Minnesota, Narcy Paré in Washington, and Susan Sparks in California.

1. Spiritual Fiction/Work of Catholic Sisters

2. Friendship/Communication

Contents

Foreword

1. The Big Surprise: A Tale from India

2. The Color Of Joy: A Tale from El Salvador

3. Hidden In Plain Sight: A Tale from the Middle East

4. Turn-Up Patch: A Tale from the USA

5. Border Bakers: A Tale from Mexico

6. Can You Hear Us Now? A Tale from Zambia

7. We’re Not Finished Yet! A Tale from ‘The Sister’s Home’

8. O Bury Me Not Alone: A Tale from Brazil

9. AGNUS DEI: A Tale from France

10. Sail On In Darkness: A Tale from Ethiopia

11. Ya’ Stuvo: A Tale from East Los Angeles

12. Words For Prophet: A Tale from the United Nations

13. Two To Live, One To Die: A Tale about Life

14. Grandmother Circles: A Tale from Kenya

Foreword

Welcome to PeaceTools. The following stories are fiction, though within each story the tools for making peace are inspired by real events. My hope is that the peace tool that appears within each tale lifts the veil for you between a world in distress and a world of peace.

Catholic Sisters have been minding this practice of peace-making for over a millennium and are the largest movement of women for good on the planet. Over 650,000 Sisters; peace is their way and love their currency. These powerful women do powerful work in nearly every country. Sisters live among those who are poor so that together they may uncover and solve root causes to the poverty and violence that surround them.

If Sisters’ aggregate story could be told, the narrative of our world could change from despair to hope, cruelty to kindness, war to peace. PeaceTools is an attempt to illuminate this world of peace so fundamental to Sisters’ work. To that end, tucked inside each story is a peace-making tool. As you discover them, create for yourself a virtual toolbelt wherein you place each peace tool to retrieve when your own communities need help making peace.

Sisters Rising Worldwide is real and has an actual PeaceRoom platform for Sisters. In the PeaceRoom, Sisters share real needs and best practices with one another. Their projects and programs are vetted, and resource needs are made known to WayMakers.

WayMakers are real people who love and care enough to share their resources. One does not need to have a lot of resources to be a WayMaker. Even small contributions, with a big desire to help, makes one a WayMaker. Everyone can become a WayMaker. The public website, www.srw.org is YOUR portal to join this movement of powerful women doing powerful work. All proceeds from book sales support Sisters work. Gratefully and in peace,

Sr. Irene O’Neill, CSJ, and all Sisters Rising Worldwide

1.

The Big Surprise:

A Tale from India

Cheriliese took up her satchel, as heavy as the weather, full of books the Sisters had given her. If the slate gray and black clouds were any lower, they would have touched the dirt walkway. The day was thick, hot, stuffy, and all was soon to flood. The monsoon season was upon them. Cheriliese tramped down the way heading home, living near the old Hindu Temple where people came and went, and incense burned, primarily to Lakshmi, goddess of wealth and abundance, Kali the divine mother of the universe, and Ganesh, the pink elephant god of wisdom and joy.

Of course, Brahma, the #1 god was also worshiped. Cheriliese had learned he was the god and the rest of 330 million gods were for various duties, gifts, and protection of the people. Though this was not her belief, she respected those Hindus for whose it was. The incense floated out into the street. Her uniform paavaadai (long skirt) would be soaked and she needed to get home or her Akka (elder sister) would be livid. The kolam (rice flour design on the ground in front of their home) was finished for the day and washed away by the beginning of torrential rain.

Her Akka, Kalyani, was terrified of the traffickers and Cheriliese hated coming and going to get to college and home safely. She was afraid. Their young cousin (only eleven) ripped from them three years ago and only God knew where she might be. As Cheriliese walked the rain began to fall. A few people on the pathway ducked under what was left of the teetering roof on the temple, others scurried elsewhere. Cher hurried splashing through puddles and receiving the backsplash from little carts and bicyclists, also hurrying as fast as they might. The street puddles had less water than those on her path, but either way, her feet would slip (she had already taken off her sandals) and slopped through muddied water.

When Cheriliese was five, her mother took her to help some Sisters. All dressed in white sarees, the novices were feeding the hungry and taking care of some seriously sick people, probably Dalits or even tribal people (the Adivasis), poor for sure, some with faces eaten away with leprosy, skin and bones, gray, and malodorous, who had been left behind, alone in the middle of the street, now gently retrieved, and brought into the Sisters’ home. Besides that, she remembered the very tiny Mother, with blue on her saree, speaking very sweetly to her, giving her candy and a tiny medal, a big smile with a reminder to pray to her friend Jesus. Cheriliese remembered promising, though she was not so sure she had kept it. When she heard that Mother Teresa from Kolkata had died in 1997 and was declared a saint, it fascinated her that such a little one, serving the least in the country, would even be known let alone be a saint in such a big Church! Those Sisters were there, serving all the poor, Hindu, Christian, Buddhist, whatever. Cheriliese was impressed.

Kalyani was furious that Cheriliese was so late, having cooked their meal now going cold. The lentils and naan bread could be so tasty, she did not want to waste it. Cheriliese stood there dripping, agreeing with her sister, and begging her forgiveness. There were just the two of them, their parents had passed. Cheriliese disappeared into her little part of the subdivided room and began to peel off her drenched clothes. Looking for a towel she uncovered a dry blouse and linen pants. Her school bag had protected her books and work, and for that she was grateful. Even though the Sisters at her college were sweet and kind, they were firm and bold in their teaching with grand expectations of the young women. So, to have to redo her almost-finished project would have been a nightmare. The goal was to gain an internship. Her diploma in teaching education would start her off but she would need more college to meet her goal of becoming a lawyer, like her friend in one of the earlier classes who was doing just that with an excellent law firm. Cheriliese knew she could advance if she just studied and stayed away from rapists and traffickers. Soon enough she planned to put them in jail!

All the young girls and young boys feared rapists and traffickers. Always looking over her shoulder and walking as swiftly as possible, Cheriliese and her friends wanted to end the trauma and the horrific behavior. You see, upper-caste boys thought it was their right to do such things to Dalit or Adivasis girls. They were not worth anything anyway so why not? Well, why not? Really? Every person, that is, every person, is a gift from God, which is why! Even those wicked boys! Women bore the brunt; an experience Cheriliese would happily forego!

Cheriliese and her sister lived in Andhra Pradesh District. Reading the papers and reports she discovered in 2017 there were ninety-two rapes a day in India, a 35 percent jump from 2012. That seemed like old history to Cheriliese because when she read about the September 2020 rape and killing of that young Dalit woman, she along with everyone was shocked and outraged. The girl, like Cheriliese, was only nineteen, and though more rapes occurred in the Hathras District in Uttar Pradesh, it happened everywhere, even gang-rape on a bus. Young Dalits often changed their surnames to protect themselves and get work but if they were outed, they might be beaten to death. This gave Cheriliese a bellyache, a headache, and increased fear. Her senior project was her attempt to challenge the system.

It was morning again and though the rain pounded, Cheriliese packed her bag and dressed as well as she might and left for college. The rain had not eased so she would be soaking when she arrived. In her bag, she had a dry uniform blouse and skirt. It was only one more month before graduation, and she knew there was a big competition for various internships. She had also heard the Sisters had a secret surprise this year. It will be a big day.

Within the college were all sorts of young women, some as young as fourteen. Cheriliese had been there since she was sixteen. The earliest women attending the College came from the Dalits or the Adivasis. The Sisters of St. Michael had begun meeting the girls here and there when they came out of the Sarada forest near the river where they lived. They would come out for food and the Sisters would meet, befriend, and offer them just a little something brief, a few unfamiliar words in English. Then they returned to the forest. Even though most spoke Telugu, the Sisters communicated well with them. The next time they came out the Sisters were there, and they remembered each other. They found more food and just before they were going back to the forest the Sisters offered another little lesson on something. The women had begun to be less afraid and when they met again seemed to enjoy their budding friendships. Eventually, the Sisters appealed to the WayMakers through the PeaceRoom for funds to build shelters. Once the women felt trust and safe with the Sisters, they could have a place where they could live, sleep, eat and receive an education. There was no charge, The vocational part of the college grew to prepare women for careers with the hope that poverty might be stemmed. Since the year 2000 over six hundred had graduated and Cheriliese did not want to be one who failed.

Cheriliese’s Akka, Kalyani, found St. Michael the Protector College and Vocational Center after their cousin had been trafficked. Kalyani was terrified for Cheriliese and remained so even after three years at the college. Cheriliese, of course, tried to comfort her sister and remind her that she knew the way and even though guys were hanging around smoking beedis (those eucalyptus cigarettes everyone was either smoking or rolling) and drinking that blindness-creating-homebrew, she would get home safely.

The day rapidly approached for Cheriliese to deliver her project. Her English was good but felt no better than fair when in front of a whole classroom. Her teacher, though, had confidence in her and Cheriliese was ready. She had chosen for her project to look more deeply into the rape/trafficking issue in India, in Andhra Pradesh. Cheriliese was particularly interested to find out what the Sisters, and others from her faith Community were doing about it all.

But as the weather would have it, as the senior students were nearing their last days, a cyclone passed, sadly destroying the school buildings. Clothing hung in trees, carts, with bags thrown about. Flood waters were well over their usual monsoon levels and people died in the stench. Would Cheriliese and her colleagues be able to complete after all this? Most students lived in, a handful like Cheriliese, were day students. The Sisters would need more funds to help rebuild; equally, they needed to borrow or rent someone else’s building for the time being. The surprise project through the PeaceRoom with the WayMakers had been secured, or had it? Now the Sisters were worried.

Sr. Sunita was the one to negotiate and present their project to the WayMakers. Everyone around was trying to rebuild as the terrifying cyclone tore at every aspect of the area. She discovered that the wonderful donation agreed to before the cyclone was still secure for them, specifically for the surprise. They needed $25,000. A WayMaker with a beautiful home, one night converted it into a concert hall and hired a singer and entertainer. People paid to come and donated more when they realized what the money was for. The surprise was bought and hidden away, fortunately, safe from the ravages of the cyclone. It would be the big excitement at this year’s graduation party. They had moved classrooms to another location making it possible for the seniors to present their projects.

Cheriliesse had been up half the night worrying and tweaking her words and work. She knew that if she wanted to eventually become a lawyer, she would have to be thorough and thoughtful. Along with understanding their poverty, it was important for her, now, prepared as a young teacher to know and understand how to protect her students from rapists and traffickers. Kalyani had fixed her a wonderful breakfast, she had a good change of uniform in her bag, the skies were clear, but the rain was forecast. Never mind, she thought, never mind. Ready to move on! She was the final presenter.

During the two weeks the seniors were giving their projects they had Mass at the beginning of the day. One of the Little Brothers presided. Cheriliese found it helpful and had talked with Little Brother Pi. He gave her excellent advice and simply reminded her of a proverb: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a wish fulfilled is a Tree of Life." (Prov 13:12). She knew what she wanted, and her heart would indeed be sick if she never pursued it or was not given the chance. Her time at St. Michael’s had formed her into a beautiful young woman, leaving the fright-filled girl of three years ago. Now she was ready to go out and teach young ones and help them as she had been helped. Now it was time. Her time.

There had been no rain on the way in. She was thankful. The task went for two hours and all her friends and the others in her class were looking forward to hearing from her. It was Cheriliesse’s turn. She stood and Sr. Mary Kevin turned the whole class over to her with a hug and a beautiful smile. Now, let us hear from Cheriliese, she said. I can only imagine that we will all learn a lot!

Cheriliese began.

I hope to share with you some of what I have learned about rape. There was a gasp in the room. Not an often-discussed subject, by anyone especially women and girls, due to the stigma. I also explored some of the realities of trafficking. Cousin Indra was taken nearly four years ago. She was only eleven. The women stared at her with unbelieving eyes. They had never heard that part of Cheriliese’s story. They only knew she was poor and lived with her sister. That was it. Since that time, which coincided with my coming to St. Michael’s, I have been hurting in my heart and want other women free of this!

Cheriliese turned and drew from her water bottle, as tears had gathered; her throat had constricted. She took a deep breath and turned back to the class. Smiling she continued, Let us realize how hard it is, if we are honest, to be a Dalit or an Adivasis. In our culture castes are still in place even though the law changed. Dalit is not even a caste. It is lower than low. Did you know it means ‘crushed, broken’? So, for example, if a young man is a Dalit and wants to become a priest, which is fine, but be assured he will be treated as Dalit first, within the Church, and a priest second. Research shows few if any promotions to jobs of distinction and the vocation is not well promoted within the Dalit Community. Over the years and even recently there have been sit-ins and various sorts of protests to try to bring this discrimination to the fore and demand some sort of change within the Church. The class was not horrified for most came from one or another of these poor castes and they knew from their own experience that what she was reporting was true.

The first hour had passed and she reported how it affects students in school or denied children (especially girls) opportunities. Poverty and discrimination set up the atmosphere for rape and/or trafficking and continued to leave wreckage in their wake, especially when there was no action against the perpetrators.

Now as I begin the second half of my project, I’d like everyone to take a quiz! The class exhaled together as a choir. Cheriliesse passed around a short paper with only three questions. She included Sister Mary Kevin. Question 1: Are the Eastern Ghats continuous or discontinuous mountains? Question 2: Is the monsoon season July to September or September to November? And Question 3: What did a graduate, an intern, who was raped, say about her time at St. Michael’s?

The class knew they had this. Easy peasy. Everyone knows these answers. There was laughter as they scribbled so confidently. It was a good break in the tension.

Would anyone answer question 1?

The answer came, discontinuous. Right! Question 2? July to September. Yes! What about Question 3? Sister Mary Kevin had seen the letter Sr. Sunita received but wanted to hear what various students might say. Question 3 responses included, I loved it here. I’m not so afraid anymore. ‘I think even though I’m a Dalit I can succeed."

Well, Cheriliese said, "close but not close enough. Number Three is from one of our classmates two years ago who wrote St. Michael’s to let the Sisters know what an impact they had made. She wrote: ‘You give us life.’ Silence reigned. They knew it was true. Was the college that Tree of Life the proverb had highlighted? Seemed so.

You know, she continued, "to have had the opportunity, despite class, caste, poverty, or being a woman, to attend a college designed